


Help is on The Way

by Sari_ri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Eating Disorder, Fluff, Sam Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, Sam Winchester is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sari_ri/pseuds/Sari_ri
Summary: A dad desperate to find his wife's killer, two sons, and one murderer that resides inside one of them.





	1. Control

**Author's Note:**

> I won't make this long! Just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to read my story! :) It's my first time writing on this site. I hope you enjoy!

Control. It was always, always about control. Sure, I might not have control over what grade I was in, or how much schoolwork that I was receiving (though I secretly loved it) or the fact that even though I'm only 15 years old, I still look like a 9-year-old girl. Hell, I don't even have the smallest grasp of control over my own _life_, but I did have control over this. The one thing that most people just don't even think about having control over. And that thing is food.

I can't really remember when or where or even how it started. Thinking back, maybe it was the time that dad yelled at me to "pick up my pace" during practice one day, even though I was going so fast that I could barely hear my dad yelling at me to focus over the sound of my own heart pumping in my ears and my eyes blurring out the images of Dean going at the ideal pace for his liking, or maybe it was the day that I had forced myself to run just a few more laps and miss breakfast as I just couldn't stand being around my father for another minute because how dare he tell me we're moving schools again for the 7th time and it was only January.

Either way, something was the cause of it. But I suppose I don't really mind that. Whenever I think about the idea of food, sure, my stomach longs for it. It isn't like I just up and left eating cold turkey. Cutting out the carbs was the hardest thing to remove. I mean, candy and Funyuns were essentially the only things that I actually enjoyed eating before this. After they were gone from my so-called diet, getting rid of everything else was easier. If I had to be perfectly honest, the hardest thing about all of this is the idea that my dad might find out, or even worse, Dean.

I don't know if I'm ready for either of them to know yet. I mean it's not like I haven't thought about telling them. I've weighed over the pros and cons in my head more times than I can count. I know what I'm doing isn't necessarily the best thing for myself, but its the only way that I feel I can grasp some sort of control when I was thrown into a life that I have zero control over. And besides, it's not like I have the intention of having this go on forever. No, I'll stop once I finally have control over something at least. Anything. After that, I'll stop for good.

Dean popped into the motel room, knocking me from my thoughts as he hurled two big bags -probably from the fast-food joint down the street- onto the table, flashing me his ever so familiar smile as he did so.

"Hiya, Sammy. Foods on!" Dean comes over to me, reaching his hand out to ruffle the mop of dirty blonde hair that lays on top of my head. I reach my arm up and swat his hand away, only catching the flash of my too-small wrist as the too-big flannel sleeve falls down my arm. I quickly put my hand back down into my lap, praying to whoever or whatever was listening that Dean didn't notice. Luck seemed to be on my side though as he turned, heading back to the table and began unpacking all of the food.

All too soon was he finished. Sitting on the table were multiple takeout boxes lined up, each containing some sort of odd Chinese food item ranging from teriyaki beef sticks to sweet and sour chicken, and probably the thing that I was happiest to see, if I dare use that word, on the table; a box of white rice. At least I wouldn't have to force the chicken all the way down my throat. The smaller the food to eat the better. Besides, the rice didn't have too many calories. That doesn't reassure me but it's not like I can't just eat anything. No, not with Dean around. That'll make him suspicious and I can't have him finding out. Not yet.

"So, uh... Where's dad?" I try and make small talk as I push myself from the bed that Dean and I shared, making my way across the too-small motel room towards the table that resided right next to the door.

"Out. He's got to finish a hunt down in South Dakota." I watched as Dean began opening up the boxes, spooning each of what was in them out on one of the few paper plates our dad had left for us before he left. "He asked if I wanted to go with him but I declined. I thought you'd need someone here to watch over you, seeing as how you're just a little kid still and all." Dean flashed me his signature smirk that I was all-too-familiar with. I chuckle a bit and shake my head, allowing the smallest idea of a smile to come onto my face at that remark. "Here, eat up."

Glancing up, I set my eyes on the plate of food that Dean had set in front of me. I didn't even realize that he had made it, we were too busy talking. My eyes scan over the food items; two teriyaki beef sticks, two spoonfuls of sweet and sour chicken, and a spoonful of rice. I can see Dean watching me hesitantly from the corner of his eye before he turns his gaze back down at his own plate and begins eating.

"Eat up, Sammy." Dean's voice sounds far away as I look at my plate. There was no way I'd be able to eat even half of this. I don't want too, I can't. It's too much, all of it is too much. I reach for the plastic fork with my hand - why is my hand shaking so much? - and instantly go for the rice. if I eat my rice then Dean might just let up off my case. I separate one piece of rice from the others and stab the piece with my fork. I can feel Dean's eyes flicker onto me every once in a while. The only sounds in the room were the sounds of Dean chewing and his fork every so often hitting the paper plate as he tried to scrape up every last morsel.

Had we been here for that long, or did Dean just eat really fast? My eyes flick around for the clock but I don't see one. That's right, it was behind me.

"Sam?" Dean shakes me from my thoughts. I quickly put the piece of rice into my mouth, doing my best not to let the taste land onto my tongue too much before I quickly swallow, having to suppress the sound of a gag that I make as I feel the piece going down my throat. It felt like a thousand.

I flash a smile at my older brother as I pick up yet another piece of rice that I had managed to separate from the pile and quickly bring it up to my mouth. I have to keep up appearances. My stomach lurches as soon as the rice falls from the fork and it takes more strength than I have to push it down. Every muscle in my body wants to come up, wants to force the piece of rice out. I swallow my spit, hoping to ease the urge.

"I'm not really that hungry, Dean," I murmur, dropping the fork onto the plate. "I don't really feel well." That one works better. And it isn't like I'm lying, those two pieces of rice sat in my stomach like a rock.

"Well, that's probably because you haven't eaten anything all day," Dean cracks out a laugh as he talks. "That's why you don't feel well Sammy. Trust me, I know when I don't eat anything all day I feel sick."

"When you don't eat anything for five minutes you feel like that," I mutter. I was trying to lighten up the situation, hoping he'd leave it alone. I don't think I could keep everything in if I had to eat another morsel. I heard Dean let out a small chuckle.

"You seriously don't feel well, though?" He asks. He had a concerned tone to his voice now. I shake my head. I hear him sit down next to me, and I feel his hand on my forehead. "Hmm... No fever. What's wrong? Is it your stomach?"

I nod. I don't think I could form words._ Please don't make me eat. Please don't make me eat. Please don't make me eat._ The plea was a silent mantra that seemed to fall on deaf ears as Dean once again suggests that I at least try and eat a few more bites. I swallow as the thought makes even more bile lurch up into my throat. My stomach was taking turns being in knots and doing flip-flops. "Dean," I breathe out. Slowly. "I can't." Please don't make me.

I can see the worry in his eyes, but he doesn't push. Instead, he clears his throat, removing himself away from me as he begins to clean up the food. I see him grab my plate and begin to drop everything, together, into one box, sealing it. "You can have this later then." he declares, walking to the fridge. I turn my body as he moves.

I see him set the box in the fridge and quickly take note of where it was. When he goes out later, which I'm hoping he does, I can take it to the dumpster outback. If Dean asks, I finished it all. I get up from my seat, having to quickly plant both feet into the floor to keep from falling. I stand there for a few seconds, letting the room come into focus. I push myself sway from the table, heading back over to the bed that Dean and I shared, grabbing my duffle bag.

"I'm going to shower," I announce, grabbing at some boxers, a pair of sweatpants, and a long sleeve shirt from my duffle. Dean won't think anything of it, not when its the middle of Winter in North Dakota and the lovely motel room we're residing in this time has no insulation. I hear him say something that sounds like an "okay" as I head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

I turn around, setting my choice of pajamas onto the toilet before dragging the shower curtain open. I turn on the water to the hottest setting - newsflash, it doesn't get that hot - before closing the curtain again. I begin to shed my clothes, placing them in a somewhat neat pile on the floor next to the bathtub. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I come back up from placing my clothes.

I could see the effects of what I had been doing etched into my face. My eyes, which used to be blue and green and literally any other color you could imagine were now a permanent state of hazel. There was no light in them anymore. I reach my hand up and touch my cheekbone. I drag the pads of my fingers down, following the curve as it soon ends at the bottom of my face. It's too deep. I shake my head. I can't dwell on that now.

I can hear the shower hiss and pump out more hot - lukewarm - water behind me. I better get in. I can't take too long, I don't want Dean wondering whats taking me forever. How can I tell him I spent the majority of my time in here just staring at my own destroyed reflection?

I step into the shower, closing the curtains behind me, allowing my body to be submerged underneath the spray. "I'll stop soon enough," I tell myself, reaching for the shampoo. I begin to lather that through my hair, making sure to get every inch. I let the shampoo fall from my hair, making sure to still run my hands through it. I repeat the process with the conditioner.

I grab the body wash and begin to lather up my body with that, washing every nook and cranny on my small frame I could find at least two times before I finally started to feel clean. I turn off the shower, opening the curtain once more and grabbing one of the towels that resided on the towel rack behind the toilet. I quickly dry my upper half and my hair, before wrapping the towel around my waist and doing the same thing down there before grabbing my clothes and getting dressed.

I take one last look at my face as I open the door, stopping midway to grab my clothes from the floor. "I'll stop soon enough," I whisper, repeating the same thing to my reflection that I did in the shower. "I just have to wait until I get control of something else. Then I'll stop, for good."

I don't really know if I believed that or not. I let that thought slip from my mind as I step out from the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.


	2. Stupid White Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read/commented on the first chapter of H.I.O.T.W. so far! <3 It really means a lot. Sorry in advance if this chapter sounds and looks a bit rushed/short. Today's a really busy day for me but I still wanted to get one out as soon as I could! I hope you like it! :)

I don't know why I closed the door behind me after I walked out. Maybe it was just a habit. Though there was nothing in there for me to try and hide this time, that is not usually the case. 

I shake my head. I can't dwell on those thoughts. I have a job to do. I walk over to the refrigerator; Dean was gone, as I predicted. That was good. He didn't need to see this. _He doesn't need to know. _Not yet. _Not ever. _I open up the fridge as soon as I get close enough to it, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light that emanates from inside. My eyes travel down the mostly bare shelves, looking for the little white box that contains my doom on the inside.

There. I see it. On the bottom left. Sitting there... Mocking me. 

"Ugh." I make a noise of disgust as I pick up the box. I can feel its contents shift inside of it. I close the fridge, beginning to head towards the door; I had to get this box outside and away from me, the smell was nauseating. I grab my coat as I head past the coatrack, making sure my butterfly knife was still tucked neatly into the lining of one of the pockets before quickly slipping it on along with my sneakers. I know, sneakers. In North Dakota. In January. But they were right there and I didn't feel like grabbing my boots. I had already held onto the box for too long.

The door to the motel room opens with a soft groan. I shiver as I instantly feel the cold wind start attacking my body. Even through my coat and my pajamas I can feel goosebumps prick up on my skin. I close the door behind me softly and begin making my way around the building. Sure enough, right after I turn the corner, I see it. To most people, it's just an ordinary, smelly old dumpster. But tonight, for me, it's my savor. 

I can feel the box growing cold in my hands. My stomach does a small growl of protest as the thought of what I'm about to do enters my mind, but I shake the thought away. _I can't_. I trudge up to the dumpster, grabbing at the lid to pop it open. The smell of rotting trash fills my nostrils. It was bad enough to make me puke. I raise my arm, throwing the box into the nearly filled trashbin. It doesn't make a sound once it lands inside. 

_There. It's gone_. My stomach makes low rumbling noises as I glance towards the parking lot. The motel thought it'd be a brilliant idea to have their parking lot in the back of the place. Don't ask me, I don't get it either. For a split second, I thought about going right back to that dumpster and eating what I had just thrown away. It _has_ been a while since I've had more than a few pieces or at least a few bites of something...

No. I can't. If I do, I'll lose what little control over this I have too. And I _cannot_ afford to do that. I put my hand on my stomach to help ease the slow pain that was forming, making my way back to the room. I open the door quickly, shoving my body inside of the room as the wind begins to pick up outside. 

More goosebumps begin to form on my skin as the temperature changes. I shed off my coat, hanging it back up on the coatrack before kicking off my now soaked sneakers. My toes started to throb as I finally started to get feeling back into them; I hadn't realized they'd gone numb. My eyes flick around the room, landing on the clock. 10:02 pm. Great. Dean won't be home for another couple of hours. 

I head over to the bed both Dean and I shared, sitting on the edge of it, before reaching down and pulling out my backpack. I didn't have many things inside of it, just a couple of notebooks, a ratty old pencil case (I think it used to be Dean's?), and a math textbook that I still somehow have managed to keep for the last two moves. Oh well, the school won't miss it anyways. See, that's something that Dean and especially dad don't understand. Life isn't all about hunting. You have to have school thrown in somewhere, too. How do they think that the whole science behind hunting came up? And the math? It isn't all just shooting guns and killing vampires with stakes. There's extensive research to be done, and what better way to practice for that type of research than by researching something for school?

I sigh a little as the thought runs through my mind. I wish we didn't have to leave all the time. Just for once I want to at least stay somewhere for more than 3 weeks. Why does dad get to make all the decisions? I'm 15 years old, I'm able to handle myself, you know. 

A loud rumbling noise catches my attention. I take a quick glance up from my textbook, only to look back down again once I hear the familiar sound of the squeak of the Impala door closing as Dean steps out of the vehicle. I don't really pay much attention. That changes, however, once I hear him suddenly open up the door. How did he get here so fast? 

"Sam." I glance up at my older brother. I can't read his expression, but he doesn't look too happy. Though he doesn't look sad, either. 

"Dean?" I say. I push the textbook aside, not really caring about it at this point. It knocks over my backpack and it falls down onto the carpet. I brace my hands on the comforter, getting ready to push myself up. Though before I can, Dean interrupts me with a sharp "_Don't._" 

"Sammy. Do you want to explain to me what this is?" I can hear Dean set something down on the table. My eyes scan over to what it was and I freeze. There, sitting on the table, right where Dean had set it only a few hours ago, was the stupid, white box. 


	3. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I didn't forget about this story. my professors just seemed to amp up the homework to 100 lately. I can't believe this story is almost over!  
Anyways, thank you guys for leaving comments and everything! It feels so nice knowing people are reading my work! :) Speaking of that, I have a bunch of story ideas that I'm just itching to get out - and also, I want to hear from you guys! If you guys want me to write you a one-shot, I'd love to do so!! :) I hope you like this chapter!

"Sam," Dean asks again. He was not happy. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _This was bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to know. _How does he know?_ And then it hit me. _The dumpster. _I, wanting to get the box out of my sight before I devoured nearly everything inside of it, forgot to close the freaking lid. And of course, Dean just _had_ to walk right past that to get into the room. 

I can hear Dean begin to make his way over to the bed, the cold night air seeping in through the long-forgotten open door. I was grateful for it now; I could barely breathe. I could feel my sweat beginning to trickle and stick to any part of my body it could reach. "Sammy. I need you to look up at me. Right now." I can see Dean's bow-legged figure come into frame. I shook my head ever so slightly, causing more of my bangs to fall in front of my eyes. I couldn't face him. 

: Sam." He says again. I can't bring myself to look up. How do I respond? Do I play dumb? Do I admit everything? What will happen? What if he tells Dad? What will he think? Oh god, w_hat will Dean think_? I force the rising sensation of bile down with a quick swallow, before clearing my throat. 

"Dean.." I breathe. I had no idea what I wanted to say. How do you tell someone, let alone your brother, who you know would _die _for you, no questions asked, that you've been hurting yourself? I can see Dean's boots from behind my hair. He begins to move around me, landing on the bed next to me I follow him with my eyes, my head still looking downwards. I don't know why I wasn't looking up. Hell, I can face off monsters alone just fine. I can even fight with Dad with minimal fear. So tell me why, right now, do I feel the most scared I have ever felt before in my entire life?

"Dean," I say. I don't feel good. My palms are sweaty. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. I don't know what to say next. My brain's running at 73 miles an hour.

What do I say? _You have to say something. _I don't know what to say. What if I say the wrong thing? _Just say something. You've already been waiting here for too long. _He'll start to get suspicious. _He already is. _

"Dean," I say again. I didn't know what else to say. How do I word it? _Oh god, what do I do?_

"You already said that." Dean tries to crack a joke, though there was no laughing tone in his voice. I can hear him clear his throat to block out any emotion. "Sam, I think we need to talk. Now, I don't want to assume what I believe is going on here, but after seeing that - the box - and... and seeing.. well, _you..._" His voice trails off, but what he meant still hung in the air. 

I start chewing on my lip. The copper taste of blood fills my mouth as I rub my sweaty hands onto my pajama bottoms. 

"Dean, I.." I start. I don't know what to say. I know that he knows. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to pretend like the thought of him even having a general idea of what I've been doing hasn't been drilling into my head ever since I started this little control grab. "I.. I think I have a problem." 

I can hear Dean take a breath beside me, though before I could react, I feel his arms wrap around me. Dean and I rarely ever hug. The only time we do is when something is the matter, or if either of us is hurt. I don't know how long Dean and I sat there like that; his arms wrapped around my too-small frame, my head now laying gently on his shoulder. my hands were still on my lap. I still haven't looked up at him. 

"I know." 

Dean's voice breaks the silence. I feel him squeeze a little tighter, but then he lets go. He shifts around on the bed a bit more, eventually turning to face me completely. I shift uncomfortably. 

"Sammy... I think.." He clears his throat. "I think we need to talk." 

I finally, finally look up at him. I can see his green eyes staring back into mine. They had a concerned look in them. I open my mouth to speak, but Dean stops me. 

"No, Sam. I need you to listen first." I wiggle my nose. That didn't make sense, but I let him continue. "Sammy... I don't... Man, I don't know what you're doing to yourself but.. You gotta.. you just can't keep doing it,." His voice cracks a little at the end. 

I let my eyes flicker around to the area behind him. it was mainly just the wall, but it gave me a sense of distraction that I desperately needed. I couldn't look him in the eyes right now. I feel the air Dean blows out as he sighs heavily. "I know that this must be hard for you.." he sounds like he doesn't know what to say. I wiggle my nose again. That's impossible, Dean always knows what to say. he's always right, though I'll never let him know that. 

"Dean, you don't get it." Even the tone of voice I used shocked me. I hadn't meant to sound that rude, but he didn't understand it. I wasn't sick -_yes I was_\- I just wanted to be finally, _finally _in control of something, _anything_. "You don't understand."

"You're right, Sammy. I don't. Please, tell me. Help me understand. help me help you." I flick my eyes towards Dean after I hear that. His voice was full-on shaking now, but I doubt he cared. I had no response to give him because truth be told, I don't understand either. 

"It wasn't supposed to go this far." My voice sounds weak. My heart was still pounding in my ears as I clear my throat again. I needed to get all the courage I could. "It was only for the control, Dean. I swear. I'm not... I'm not anorexic or anything like that... I just.. I mean, I don't have control of anything, besides this!" 

Dean's mouth dropped open, but I quickly put my hand up. 

"I mean, Dad has control of what we do, where we go to school, where we live, hell, even when we _sleep_ for Christ's sake! I just wanted something, _one single, itsy, bitsy teensy thing _that I was in control of." I let my voice trail off. "You weren't supposed to know. I never wanted you to know." 

I begin chewing on my lip again, picking and pulling at the already irritated skin from before. 

"I don't.." Dean sits back a bit, wiping his now sweaty palms on his jean-clad legs. "I don't know what to say, Sam... I mean.. This..." He waves his arms around, pointing quickly at the now frozen-box that stood on the kitchen table. "Isn't healthy, Sam. Why can't you have control in other ways? We could talk to Dad, we could maybe even get him to let you pick the next case." 

I feel the blood drain from my face as I heard that. Tell Dad? _Nononono_. "Terrible idea," I say quickly. Having Dean know is one thing. A_ stupid, stupid terrible awful horrible _thing. But having Dad know? That's something I don't frankly want to deal with right now. I can feel Dean staring at me. 

"Sam, you know he has to know." 

I shake my head. "No, no he doesn't Dean." _Fuck, why does Dean have to know? it was so much simpler when it was just me and Dean was oblivious. _

"Sam." Dean's voice had dropped now. He was serious. "We have to tell Dad. You can't keep doing this, you're hurting yourself." I hear him sniffle. "_You're killing yourself_." 

"It's not that bad, Dean," I mutter. It wasn't. I was still up and moving around, albeit it a little dizziness here and there. but that was normal. Completely and utterly normal. I hear Dean scoff, before standing up. 

"Fine." He says. He grabs my hand, firmly but gently as he pulls me unwillingly to my feet. I stamp down on the carpet. The room begins to spin. "If you're so sure, then come on. You're going to take a long, hard look at yourself." The room was cold as we walked across the floor. I was about to ask Dean if he could close the door, but no words came out. He leads us into the bathroom, shutting the door behind us quickly. 

"Now what?" I look up at my brother. He says nothing as he opens up one of the side drawers, pulling out a hand mirror. I didn't even know that was in there. 

"Here." He passes the mirror to me aimlessly. I hold it, staring at my reflection. "You're going to look at yourself. Look at yourself, Sam." 

I scoff a little bit. I was just doing that earlier. "I don't need to take a look at myself, Dean," I argue. I wasn't going too. "This is stupid."

"It's not stupid, Sam. You need to see what you're doing to yourself. The damaged you've caused." Dean quickly turns away from me after that, opening up the door. He closes it behind him, leaving me alone. I sigh and set the mirror down on the counter. 

"I don't understand this," I grumble, though I still find myself beginning to shed my pajamas to the floor. I set them neatly in a pile, just like I did when I was in the shower, and stared at my reflection. At first, nothing seemed to be happening. Sure, my eyes were dull, and they had incredibly dark circles underneath them, and yeah, my cheekbones were so prominent and so sharp that they could potentially_ literally_ cut something. 

I let my eyes continue to scan the rest of my face, falling onto my nose, my mouth. my lips, which were cracked and dry. I take the bottom lip into my mouth. Mirror me did the same. I shake my head before turning my gaze downwards, towards the rest of my body. I put my hands on my chest, beginning to trail my fingers downwards. My fingers dipped into my ribcage as they passed. 

I watched, almost not in my own body as my hands continue to trail down my skin, fingertips falling and darting into crevices that shouldn't have been on my body in the first place. I quickly grab for the mirror, turning my small frame around, just enough so I could see my back. I nearly drop it at the sight. 

The muscles that used to outline my back ever so slightly were now gone, and in its place, bone. My shoulder blades jut out. It didn't look right. _I didn't look right_. I quickly set the mirror back down on the counter. I brace myself, using my hands. The room was starting to spin again. I couldn't grasp what I had just seen. 

I had never meant for it to go this far. I want to stop. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. All I wanted was control! I feel hot tears begin to slowly make their way down my cheeks. I could see them splatting on the countertop below. 

_Oh my god, what have I done? _


	4. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe it's here, the end of my little story that I have had bouncing around in my head for months. Thank you to everyone who helped support this piece. I gotta say, I'm sad to see it finished. I hope everyone enjoyed H.I.O.T.W., I know I enjoyed writing it!

I didn't know how long I had stayed in that bathroom. I felt as if I was in a state.. a trance if you will. I was so caught up in myself that I didn't notice Dean talking me to me through the door, nor when the older brother opened said door, grabbing me and pulling me into his arms. 

"Dean..." I breathe out. I couldn't seem to form words, only small sounds escaped me as I began to feel Dean hold me a little tighter. Nothing was making sense. Neither of us knew how long we stayed there like that; Dean holding onto me with every aspect of his being, I, curled up against Dean as he held me protectively. The only sounds were the occasional sound of me breathing out Dean's name as if my life depended on it. 

Dean held me like that for a long time until he eventually began maneuvering us into a better, and more comfortable, position. Dean sat us down on the floor, his back pressed up against one of the motel beds and set me on his lap gently. I could feel him begin to rub my arms and my back comfortingly. 

"I'm sorry." I sniffle and bring my arm up, wiping the dried tear-stains from my face. I set it back down as I feel Dean shift sightly against me. 

"What are you sorry for?" Dean asks me, softly, as if not to disturb the heavy silence that hung in the air. 

I bring my hands up and gently motion towards myself. "For... This." I set them back down where they would. Dean squeezes me tighter.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Sammy." He begins. "Now, I'm not going to sit here and say that any of this is right, but there's nothing we can do about this now except to try and fight this, eventually making it so you don't ever do this again." 

I didn't know how to respond. Stop? I didn't know if I could. What would I do without it? It had been with me through so much, it was _apart_ of me now. If I stop, then what am I supposed to have control over then? No, I didn't like the idea of stopping at all. 

"What... What if I don't want too?" My voice is weak, My heart begins pounding in my ears again. Dean furrows his brows, pushing me back a little to look down at me. 

"What do you mean?" Sam, "He scoffs a bit. "You know you can't keep doing this." Of course, I knew that. I wasn't stupid, after all. I was just... desperate? If that's even the right word to describe it. 

"I know that, Dean. I just... I'm not saying I want to do it forever, just until-" 

"Until what, Sam?" 

"Just until I get a little bit more control." My voice almost has a pleading tone to it. I don't feel Dean move again for quite some time until I see his head shake. 

No." He says, looking into my eyes. His voice had an angry tone to it, though I don't think it was actively directed towards me. "No. I'm sorry Sam, but you're not going to continue hurting and causing damage to yourself just so you can have this.. "control" thing or whatever. You're better than this, dude. C'mon... you know better. We'll find control for you in other ways... Other, _healthier _ways. Ways that don't involve you killing yourself." 

"I'm not killing myself, Dean," I grumble. Though in the back of my mind, I knew he was right. As I said, Dean was always right. Especially when it came to me. 

"The hell you aren't, Sam." Dean all but yells. I can feel the anger radiating off of him. "You're starving yourself, Sammy." 

"Dean, no I'm not-"

"Really Sam?" Then tell me, why don't you eat? Why did I find the barely touched Chinese takeout in the dumpster, when last I checked, it was supposed to be in the refrigerator, and then your stomach? If you aren't starving yourself, riddle me this Sam. How have you somehow gotten skinnier? This may have started as a control grab for you, but now it's gone too far." Dean sighs, pushing me off of him. He pulls himself up, now sitting on the bed, setting his head in his hands. He drags one of his hands down his face then puts them in his lap. "Sammy, please. I need you to stop this man. You have too." 

I sighed. I was torn. One part of me didn't want to stop - whatever I was doing for this weird, _wrong _sense of control had become such a big part of my life, _of me. _I was afraid -_petrified_\- to go on without it. Though another part of me had always known it was wrong. That part of me knew that eventually, this, no matter how great and sickly wonderful I found this, had to stop. I knew I couldn't do this forever. 

I stand up shakily, using the bed as a support system. I sit own next to Dean, barely creating an indent in the sheets. I look up at my big brother, studying his face. I could count every one of his freckles individually My eyes trail up to his. Dean's eyes had always been such a majestic shade of green, and his eyes only seemed to get greener as tears formed in them. 

"Fine." 

I felt Dean suddenly hug me again. He buries his face into my hair. "Thank you." He breathes, pulling back. He looks into my eyes. "This isn't going to be easy, Sam. But we can do it. Me and you." 

I bit my lip again. If I wasn't careful, that was going to become a habit too. I quickly took it out of my mouth before I spoke. "What about... Dad?" 

Dean hums for a moment. "Dad... Dad doesn't have to know. But, that means you have to listen to me Sam and do everything I say." His voice is stern now. I nod. I know this wasn't going to easy. In fact, it was most likely going to be the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my entire life. But I know that I can do it.

And I couldn't have been more right. Over the next couple of months, Dean and I worked hard every day. First, it was the small stuff - taking more than one bite or one piece of something. It was hard, and somedays I had setbacks, setbacks that would last up to either a few weeks or a few months. But Dean was always there to make sure I got back to the place I was before they happened. Then we started to add carbs into the routine. So far that's been going okay. 

I can feel Dean staring at me as we sit at the table. Dad's out again, no surprise. I can't tell if I'm even mad about that anymore. I swallow the last bite of a piece of chicken I had been eating. "Yes?" 

Dean reaches out, ruffling my hair lightly. "Just... You." He says, pulling his hand away from my head before I could get a chance to do it myself. We go back to eating in silence. Dean doesn't have to say anything, I know what he meant. It had been a couple of months since I told him everything, And even though it's been hard, I guess I can say I've made a bit of progress. 

Sure, I'm not as muscular as I could be, but my muscles are finally beginning to come through a lot more than before. Dean even set up an exercise routine for us, though he swears that after I'm better he'll stop doing it. I've also grown a bit, too. Dean jokes and swears up and down that one day I'll surpass him in height, but I doubt it. 

My face and stomach have filled out a bit more, too Some days I feel as if they've filled out a bit too much, but whenever those thoughts come, Dean's always there to squash them away. I've been getting to choose a lot more things, too. Not huge things, like how long we stay in a town or whatever, but Dean's somehow convinced Dad to let both us, primarily me, choose where we go for our next hunt every couple of weeks. He's even helping me begin to look for schools to maybe -hopefully- attend one day.

Some days are harder than others, but the most important thing is that I'm making progress. And I know I'll be able to continue if I have Dean by my side. 


End file.
